


this is the new beginning (can you see the sparks fly)

by TheTartWitch



Series: Author's favorites [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Jackson shows weakness to Stiles, Multi, Polyamory, Stiles is okay with that, crying together in a bathroom, friendship to romance, scott is good at doing nails, scott is the calming influence in this relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTartWitch/pseuds/TheTartWitch
Summary: This is how something immortal is born.





	this is the new beginning (can you see the sparks fly)

The moment everything changes goes like this.

Jackson, young and small and growing up vicious to hide his soft underbelly.

Stiles, thin and knobby and growing up too quickly so that _next time_ , he won’t be too young to help the ones he loves.

A bathroom in a middle school, quiet and small, blue and white tile reflecting light. Jackson huddling on a toilet in a stall, door locked. Stiles, crawling underneath the door at the sound of crying, stopping for a moment at the sight of Jackson. They stare each other in the eyes, and Jackson’s shield comes up after a few seconds, his sharp face twisting into something rabid, before Stiles ducks beneath them and hugs him, buries the other boy’s face into his shoulder and cries too.

They miss class. Neither of them mind.

\--

That’s the very end of the last year of middle school. They don’t meet over the summer, but they spend it thinking.

On the first day of high school, their eyes meet across a hallway. There’s a moment of stilted silence, before something in Jackson gives way and he tucks Stiles’ head up under his arm and drags him along. Lydia leads the way primly, deciding that finding out what the heck is going on can wait until they’re not in everyone’s view, and Scott tags along, deciding that since Stiles seems okay with this new development he’s okay with it too.

\--

Lydia: Explain.

Jackson: He’s...It’s complicated, Lyds. But he stays.

Scott: Stiles?

Stiles: It’s cool, Scotty. Now we have someone to eat lunch with, right?

Scott: … I guess.

Lydia: I’m not convinced, but Jackson’s doing something weird with his face so I guess I can watch and see how this goes.

Stiles: That’s called a smile, Lyds.

Lydia: Shut up, Stilinski.

Scott: Hey, do you guys like pineapples? Cuz they always hand out these little fruit cups at lunch and I was just thinking that if you guys didn’t want yours-

Stiles: Scotty, dude.

Scott: What? I’m just thinking, in the name of friendship…

Stiles: At least wait until lunch, would you?

(Jackson hovers anxiously, mouth twisted into an uneasy smirk.)

\--

Lydia decides they can stay after two weeks of almost creepy cohesion. Jackson and Scott play lacrosse in a nearby field as she and Stiles compare science notes interjected with random but interesting facts Stiles has absorbed via the internet. They watch movies on Lydia’s couch, Jackson and Lydia holding hands, Jackson and Stiles leaning against each other, Scott sitting with his head between their knees on the floor, hand moving robotically from his popcorn bowl to his mouth. Scott doesn’t mind watching the rom-coms Lydia likes, or painting her nails the color of tropical fruit, or letting her groom his hair into something presentable and taking her dancing, or doing the things that Stiles and Jackson would do for her but be bored the whole time. They all stay up all night on the phone, just talking, comparing homework, complaining about Harris’ teaching methods, talking Jackson through a panic attack or talking Lydia down from ruining someone’s social life forever for taking Scott’s inhaler and breaking it.

(Jackson does that last one anyway, cornering them in gym and making it very clear what happens to people who don’t respect other people’s health. Stiles and Lydia are very proud of his self-restraint, and Scott gives him a hug.)

\--

Sheriff has grown used to seeing the Martin girl or the Whittemore boy hanging around just as much as he’s used to Scott. He’s listening on the other side of the bathroom door one night when Jackson spills his insecurities on belonging to a sympathetic and patient Stiles. (He makes enough breakfast for three the next morning and gives Jackson a clap on the shoulder as he wanders in.) He’s there in the hall as Lydia storms out of Stiles’ room after hearing about some stupid jocks at school who make fun of his son’s hair and clothes and his clumsy, gangly walk, seething and one text message away from destroying them. (Stiles talks her down, shooting him nervous looks, but later when Sheriff drives her home, he lets her know that if she ever needs help, she can just let him know and he’ll see what he can do. She looks at him for a moment, eyes sharp enough to cut glass, before she turns and walks inside briskly.)

Sheriff tries his best to help Scott out too, because the poor kid’s dad was an asshole and leaving them was the best thing he’d ever done for them. This means that when Sheriff notices Stiles’ time dividing between three people now, he pulls Scott aside and makes sure he’s okay with all of this and not feeling left behind, as people are wont to do.

“It’s cool, Sheriff,” the boy says, gazing at him fiercely across the kitchen table. Stiles is upstairs dorking around on the computer. “They’re pretty great. They eat lunch with us and Jackson doesn’t mind that I’m not super great at running when we play lacrosse and Lydia found me this cool game on the computer that helps me study math and when we watch movies together they don’t mind if the sad ones make me cry because Jackson does it too.”

Well, that was a serious case of word vomit (and Scott seems to realize it too based on his heavy blush) but it seems like the kid’s okay with this, so that’s good.

“Alright, kid,” he says gruffly into his glass of water, “Just checking in.” And they sit quietly, Scott doing his homework and Sheriff filling out paperwork, and they both ignore the heavy, thoughtful silence from the second floor.

\--

Stiles knows how they look by their junior year. He knows what people say when they think the four of them are out of earshot. Queen Lydia would put the fear of her in them if she ever heard so they speak quietly, but Stiles has always had good ears.

He hears them whisper when he absentmindedly trails a hand on Jackson’s arm as they walk past each other in the hall. He hears them when Lydia ruffles Scott’s hair so it stands up artfully messy, when Jackson shoulder-checks Scott in lacrosse and carries a spare inhaler just in case, just like Stiles, just like Lydia. He hears them when Lydia loudly informs him they’re going shopping for something green, because that color makes his eyes stand out wonderfully, and Jackson nods along without really paying attention, tugging Scott out of someone’s way gently, huddling them all close to Stiles’ locker.

He hears them when Harris catches him daydreaming in class and wonders loudly if they’re really so good in bed as to be distracting during more important things. Time pauses for a second, ticking by in a slow lag of silence, as Stiles’ head rises and Scott panics. His eyes lock with the older man’s, something not quite anger and not quite animal rage making his voice very calm when he replies. He doesn’t even remember what he said; something sufficiently biting and degrading because Harris’ face flushes so red he seems to have trouble speaking through the fury, and then Stiles has detention for a week. Scott chokes next to him, but Stiles doesn’t mind. His eyes are still locked with Harris’.

“Talk about them like that again,” he says very quietly at the end of class, standing there with just a flailing Scott and a scarlet Harris, “And what I’ll do to you will be worth so much more than a couple of detentions.” Something shatters in the corner and Harris shrieks like a startled bird.

He sweeps out of the room, radiating something like a corona of red-hot heat, dragging Scott by the backpack strap like a reluctant puppy. He barely remembers the rest of the day.

\--

Lydia is suitably furious to find out the reason for Stiles’ detentions and is soon on the phone with her mother, explaining what happened and how her friend was sexually harassed and then _punished_ for speaking out against it!

Jackson pulled Stiles and a freaking-out Scott down onto Stiles’ couch for some calming movie time. Sheriff peeks into the room for a moment, debates whether or not he wants to ask why Stiles looks like he’s just murdered someone and is considering resurrection and then a second murder. He decides he doesn’t, and continues on to the kitchen to make hot chocolate for them all.

When the issue is finally explained to him, the only reason he doesn’t walk stiffly to the phone to give a call to the principal is because Lydia’s mother is already on it.

\--

After Harris has been released from employment the whispers go wild before finally quieting. The other students have learned their lesson about speaking about the four of them behind their backs. Everything is quiet and good and Lydia rules her Court with an iron fist and bladed heels.

And then everything goes to absolute shit.

\--

It all starts with the bite. Stiles has convinced Scott to go body-hunting in the woods, and Scott gets nervous about stuff like “are you sure this is a good thing” and “maybe we could just play video games” and ends up calling Jackson, which ends up with all three of them traipsing into the woods with Lydia joining them over the phone as she painted her toes.

Scott and Jackson get separated from Stiles, who is caught by Sheriff, and as they’re running Scott trips over a root, Jackson slows to stay by him, and then a deer is in the small dip in the earth with them and everyone is panicking. The deer runs on, Jackson manages to get Scott up off the ground and that’s when they find the top half of the body. Scott gasps and attempts to flail, and that’s when the growling starts.

And then there’s a wolf, and Jackson is unable to do anything to stop the bite.

\--

They keep quiet about it. Scott, because he doesn’t want his mom to worry and it doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore; Stiles, because if his dad finds out he was listening to the police radio again he’d be in so much trouble; Lydia, because there _are_ no wolves in California and she’s curious; Jackson, because the others have decided on a course and if anything happens to Scott he can be murderously protective.

Stiles does his research, Lydia’s sharp eyes track the red in Scott’s eyes when he gets angry, Jackson runs lacrosse with Scott and notices how Scott can keep up now. By the time the full moon rolls around they are gathered in the basement of Jackson’s house, his parents conveniently eating a lovely dinner at that new Italian restaurant they so wanted to try, with Scott handcuffed to a steel railing being calmed by Stiles and Jackson’s scents and Lydia lingering cautiously in the background, occasionally coming forward to stroke her hands through Scott’s hair. The cuffs creak a bit, in the beginning, as Scott’s animal side tests its strength in case it needs to escape, but by the end of the night it’s soothed and purring in the back of his mind as Lydia sits in a chair next to his kneeling form and rubs her manicured fingernails just right down his scalp, and Stiles and Jackson feed him bits of pre-prepared meats and sandwiches and crackers they’d bought after reading that werewolves usually went hunting on the full moon.

They dragged pillows and blankets down into the basement and curled up around Scott, all of them touching, and in the morning when they woke up they uncuffed him, made sure he wasn’t hurt, and then asked what he remembered.

“Most of it, actually,” he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck thoughtfully. “But mostly I remember being really happy you guys were here and with me.”

So that becomes a tradition.

\--

But Scott isn’t the only werewolf around, and after the first full moon one of the others starts hanging around. Scott always growls a bit under his breath whenever they see the guy leaning against one of their cars (usually Stiles’; Jackson always follows him home on those nights, just in case, and Lydia doesn’t sleep until she’s gotten the phone call telling her her boys made it home safe) or smells him loitering near Stiles’ house, where they’ve taken to hanging out lately because the Sheriff can be trusted and also keeps guns in the safe in his closet that Stiles _definitely_ doesn’t know the combination to, just in case of home invasion. Scott will pile them all onto something soft and roll on top of them as much as he’s able, snorting unhappily and making sure he’s touching all of them at least a little bit.

It’s a while before the guy actually speaks to them, though, rather than just watching them like a stalker and wandering off before they can approach.

Surprisingly, he only approaches once Stiles is with Scott.

“He’s dangerous,” the guy says, gesturing to the way Scott has pressed Stiles to get into the car, growly and furred and snapping his teeth angrily in the guy’s direction. “You’re going to get hurt trying to handle this alone, kid. You don’t know what you’re doing, and you’re going to lose control.” Stiles snorts. In case the guy hasn’t noticed, Scott’s only ever lost control like this when the guy is involved, and that’s because Scott’s detecting a potential threat in the guy’s looming and staring and stalking. Also, _alone_? Do Lydia and Jackson not count? Actually, you know what, Stiles is calling them right now. He pulls out his phone and hits the speed-dial for Lydia. She always answers promptly.

There’s a loud bang as the guy’s fist makes a dent in the jeep’s rear passenger door and Scott _loses it_. He’s out of the car, snarling deeply and claws extended for the guy’s throat, before Stiles can even say his name. Lydia picks up the phone but Stiles is too busy shouting and diving out of the car to notice.

“Scott!” He yells, clambering out and dashing around to the other side, where there’s already blood on the concrete. It’s not the guy’s, or at least not all of it: Scott’s got blood dripping from his temple, panting as he stands between the wolfed-out guy. There’s bite marks along the guy’s arms. Stiles is so proud.

“Dude,” he hisses, reaching out for Scott’s arm to steady him but talking to the wolf guy. The guy watches the contact with as much raised eyebrow as he can manage with no eyebrows. “Dude, not cool, that’s my _car_. Get out of here or I’m calling the police on your stalking ass!” Scott roars in agreement, curving protectively in front of Stiles.

“Fine,” says Wolf Guy, backing up, hands in the air like he didn’t threaten two teenagers. “But I’m telling you: this is beyond anything you’re aware of.”

Stiles points, in case the guy is confused about which direction he should be heading at this point. “Get. Away. From. Us.”

The guy turns and goes. Stiles doesn’t move until he’s all the way gone, but Scott paces the length of the jeep, growling and checking on Stiles every so often. Stiles tries to check on him, tries to hold his gaze and engage him in conversation, but Scott doesn’t seem able at the moment.

Lydia and Jackson pull up in her car to the sight of him sitting inside the car, head on the steering wheel, as Scott walks the jeep’s perimeter. There’s a fist-shaped indent in the car’s side and the passenger side door has scratches all down the length from Scott’s escape. Stiles is pale and shaking so hard he can’t still his fingers long enough to call his dad or dial 911 reliably. Lydia takes pictures of the damage and peels him out of the car while Jackson calms Scott down and leads him through some breathing exercises. Then they drive him to the police station.

\--

O: You’re sure this wasn’t an animal? This is some pretty good damage.

S: Yeah. He was waiting for us when we left school.

O: You ever see him before?

S: Yeah, around. He’s done this before, where he waited by my car for me, but he never stuck around to talk.

O: Could you identify him? Do you know why he might be following you?

S: He’s tall, dark hair, dark eyes. He’s always got a leather jacket and jeans on. I’ve seen him often enough I could draw him, probably.

O: What did he say today?

S: At first, not anything. He just wasn’t gone when Scott and I got to my car the way he usually is. Scott got really fidgety, tried to push me into the car. He’s worried about me. I told him about the guy before, just in case, and he’s seen him a few times.

S: He started saying something about getting in over my head with something, I think...drugs or something? But he never got specific with what, and I don’t have any idea what exactly he meant.

O: Do you think he was going to hurt you?

S: Not at first, you know? I thought he was going for intimidation. But then... Scott and I got into the jeep, and there’s this loud bang. I look back, and he’s put a dent in my car somehow.

O: Did you see anything in his hands?

S: No, nothing. I don’t even know if he just punched it, because he didn’t seem hurt or anything. I don’t think he would have gone farther than that, even, except Scotty jumped out of the car. Adrenalin, I guess.

O: The car we sent out said there was blood on the ground, and on the car. Was there a fight?

S: Yeah...Scotty went after him. The guy had a knife or something, cuz he clawed up the door pretty bad, and got Scott a little in the side of the face. Some of it might even be his blood. Scotty, uh, bit him on the arm. I ran out to get them to stop, and the guy disengaged and started talking again.

O: Anything useful?

S: Nah, just more stuff about this being “above my level” or something. I was preoccupied with holding Scotty back, so I wasn’t really paying attention, but he walked off in the direction of the road. I think he was parked, but I didn’t get a look at his car. Sorry.

O: Don’t worry about it. You live with the Sheriff, so I don’t know about guards or anything, but give us a call if you notice anything else amiss or see him around again, alright?

S: Sure, that’s cool. Hey, is Scotty gonna be in trouble, because I don’t know what I would have done without him.

O: I think he’ll be okay. It qualifies as self-defense in this case.

S: Great.

\--

They get a shaky Scott settled in Sheriff’s office and coax a version of events out of him that basically amounts to: “Stiles was being threatened and I was scared and angry, so I bit him.” Sheriff vouches for him, but gets that look around his eyes that means trouble for Stiles later.

“I think we should tell him,” Stiles says, in the back of Lydia’s car with Scott. “We can prove it to him now that Scott can control the shift back and forth and it will mean we can explain _this_ to him and I really don’t think he’ll react badly guys-”

Scott whimpers a little but it doesn’t seem like he can really control it at this point, there’s just so much stress fogging the car he’s surprised his breath doesn’t come out of his mouth cloudy.

Lydia pulls into Stiles’ driveway and swivels in her seat to look at them. Jackson stares out the windshield with wild eyes; he’s still concerned about Stiles and trying to clamp down on the strong urge to hide in a closet for the night just to make sure nothing happens.

“You really think so.” Lydia says, shaped like a question. She’s handing him the ball on this one and expressly expecting he doesn’t drop it. He pauses. Really thinks it over.

“Yeah,” he says.

So they all go in.

\--

The next morning, when Stiles wakes up, there’s hair in his mouth that definitely isn’t his, a wide, strong body pressed against his front, and someone’s got their hands curled around his waist and resting close to some very delicate equipment. Sheriff stands in the doorway to his room, eyebrows raised as he nonchalantly sips coffee.

“Is this part of what we discussed last night?” He asks, waving one hand at their dogpile.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and curls even further into it happily. His dad waves and continues down the hall, shutting Stiles’ door on his way.

Stiles just smiles and goes back to sleep.

\--

On Monday everyone’s heard the story of how Stilinski and McCall were attacked in the parking lot by a leather-wearing drug dealer and Lydia looks smugly proud of herself. Jackson prowls next to the other three nearly the same as Scott does. Stiles allows it because he knows they care and they know not to treat him like a dainty flower.

They meet the new girl in English. She’s lost her pencil and asks to borrow one from Scott. She seems very interested in him, but the entirety of his attention is on Stiles and the review they’re doing for the test coming up in Science.

Later, Scott complains that she’d smelled a little funny, even if she was very nice, and his instincts said not to get involved with her. Jackson frowns at this, because she did seem very nice when she was talking to Lydia earlier but Scott’s wolfy instincts were never wrong, and Lydia hummed along with Scott’s words and fed him bits of pineapple from her fruit bowl. He didn’t seem to notice the looks they were getting, especially from the new girl, who looked a little crushed but also determined to be an adult about it as she approached them.

“Hey,” she said a tad awkwardly as she faced them. “You said I could eat lunch with you guys?” It doesn’t show on their faces as they hesitate. Jackson doesn’t turn to look at her, instead looking at Stiles’ face for any clue of how he should react.

“Sure,” says Stiles after a beat, “Have a seat. How’s your first day been?” And they’re off in uneasy conversation, her noticing Scott avoiding her and trying to seem like she doesn’t actually notice.

“Ah,” Stiles says, as though he’s just noticed their plight himself when really he just had an epiphany as to how to explain it. “Allison, sorry about Scott. I promise he’s not usually rude, it’s just, well…” The others are looking at him now. “He had pretty bad asthma for a while, and sometimes strong perfume and other stuff can make it flare up again even though he’s got it pretty under control.”

Her face lightens in understanding and she attempts to surreptitiously sniff herself. Scott leaps to comfort her now that he knows he’s got a way to explain himself and not sound like he’s lost his marbles everywhere.

“It’s not that your perfume’s too strong! It’s just that it’s kind of really flowery, and it’s really distracting. It doesn’t feel like it’s too bad,” he said thoughtfully, “It’s just that I was living like that for so long that it’s sort of habit by now. Sorry to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s okay!” She rushes to say, and angles herself a little away from him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s only your first day,” Scott says reasonably. “It’s not like we sent out a text alert.”

And that’s how they acquire Allison.

\--

They don’t realize at first what they’ve done. It’s only when Wolfy Guy shows up again, growling and threatening _Allison_ this time that they’ve invited her into the beast of the den without explaining exactly what that entailed. So they talk it out amongst themselves, and decide to tell her.

“Scott’s a werewolf,” says Jackson, who was democratically voted to begin this odd little intervention. Clearly they did not make up notecards or prepare a speech. Stiles wants to hold his head in his hands already, but maybe it won’t be so bad.

Allison is looking between them, mouth already curving up into the beginnings of a smile for when one of them jumps up and yells, “Kidding!” but none of them do and she sits there, flummoxed. Scott shifts to convince her, letting her run her fingers through his wolfy sideburns but quickly returning to Lydia’s side so she can fix it with her nails that scratch _just_ the right places. Jackson looms uncomfortably, visibly nervous because he’s gotten to know Allison and doesn’t want her to run away screaming, so Stiles leans forward in his seat to explain how this all happened.

“So the first werewolf’s still out there,” is what she says when he’s done, and he nods.

“We think it might be the guy who threatened you earlier, seeing as I’ve seen him shift, but we don’t know for sure. It could be someone else who we don’t suspect at all, knowing how secretive werewolves can be. And Scott can’t tell by smell because he never got the scent of his attacker, he only saw him the once and his nose was still human then.”

She nods once, slowly, and then again faster, as though she’s decided something.

“I believe you,” she says. And that’s all it takes.

\--

Once they’ve got Allison on board things don’t really change. They’re still being stalked by Wolfy Guy, they’re still very physical friends, and Allison’s uncomfortable smell doesn’t change, according to Scott. They tell her about it now, careful to be kind, that strange gunpowder-and-strawberries scent that comes from her skin, and she seems confused.

“I don’t even use guns that often,” she says during their next movie night.

“Maybe it’s someone close to you,” Stiles suggests, fingers running through Jackson’s hair where they’re practically entwined on the sofa. She’s accepted their overly-tactile affection, though sometimes it seems there’s an invisible line with her, a boundary the others are unconsciously aware of and careful not to cross. Scott doesn’t roll into her lap so she’ll pet his hair like he does for Lydia; Stiles’ hands don’t grant stray rubs and strokes across her shoulders they way they do for Jackson; Lydia only lets Jackson and Scott do her nails, and seems to avoid any mentions of getting manicures or pedicures with Allison. Allison doesn’t mind. She’s not sure how she’d react if they behaved with her how they behaved with each other. She likes them, but not _that_ much.

But now that they hang out so often, her dad has been talking about wanting to meet them. She’s not inclined to disagree; there isn’t much about them he could disapprove of. Stiles and Lydia consistently score highest in class not that Harris is gone, Jackson and Scott are stars of the sports team, and none of them have tried anything she’s not comfortable with. Maybe the werewolf thing would be a problem, but they don’t need to tell her family until they’re certain it will turn out alright. Besides Sheriff and Scott’s mom nobody else knows anyway, so it should be easy to hide it until the right moment.

Right?

\--

They all have dinner at the Argents’ house. Jackson drives, Lydia sitting passenger with Scott and Stiles in the backseat. They haven’t seen Wolfy Guy around much but for some reason Scott’s really nervous, keeping one hand on Stiles’ leg as he leans forward to breathe in the scent of Lydia’s perfume. She allows it because she knows it calms him and because they don’t want him flipping out at the dinner with Allison’s parents.

The dinner goes okay. The Argents seem a little weirded out by the four of them but also they can see how clearly the group cares about Allison. Jackson hands her the salt and plates she wants without even looking, Lydia comments on how lovely their home is and how delicious the food is, Stiles engages Mr. Argent (“Call me Chris”) in a conversation from the point of view of the Sheriff’s son and a legal arms dealer, and Scott can still smell that strange undertone to their scents but over that is the scent of happiness that their daughter’s finally found some friends that don’t seem like creeps.

At the end of the night, Chris offers Stiles a flower from a nearby vase as a friendly gesture, and almost misses Scott’s confused flinch from his friend afterwards and how Stiles frowns down at the flower before placing it gently in the front garden. He doesn’t miss Allison’s happy smile as they all hug or, in Jackson’s case, shake hands before the four of them depart.

“What did you think?” She asks, clearly nervous and wanting their approval but also proud of her friends. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“They’re great, sweetie,” Victoria replies, kissing her cheek, “Wanna help me clean up what’s left of dinner?” And she leads their daughter out of the room, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Chris: a message. He sighs and tries to figure out how he’s going to approach the Sheriff’s son and his daughter’s friends without ruining her relationship with them.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> this was a drabble that turned into t e n p a g e s of "i ship the four of them" so  
> pls halp me get the motivation and what direction do i take this? to continue. thank you for your time y'alls i luv ya


End file.
